And Here's to You
by plastikkk handcuffs
Summary: It was the kind of thing we'd tell our kids in twenty years: the story began with a group of seven poverty stricken friends, living and dying in Alphabet City... [postRENT]
1. Homecoming

(A/N: This is kind of a rewrite of two things—one, my previous multi-chapter fanfic, in which a lot of this drama originated; two, the _original_ first chapter of this, which has undergone extensive edits. R&R, please! _All original characters and situations are property of the late Jonathan Larson & his family._)

_February 23, 1991, 10:34 PM, Eastern Standard Time._

Outside, the snow was falling heavily against a navy backdrop. A gentle breeze ruffled the pine needles, the wind whistling between the trees. All was silent, the only light coming from the moon and the stars, and the reflections off of the snow. Upstate New York was serene and beautiful this time of year.

In New York _City_, however, the atmosphere was anything but serene and beautiful. The sky was dark, but all was illuminated by the City's millions of lights. Dirty snow sat beside the curb, the only type of snow that most of the City's youth would ever see. Taxis and the occasional resident-owned vehicle sped down the road, tires squealing in an attempt to keep in control on the black ice, and horns blaring. People sat on the curbs outside, drinking vodka straight from the bottles, the tips of their cigarettes glowing.

Mimi Marquez could see all of this from her bedroom window. She sat on her bare mattress, skinny legs bent awkwardly underneath an emaciated—failing?—body. She was skinnier, paler, with big purple circles under her eyes and a constant headache.

It was the best she'd felt all year.

With a groan and a wince, Mimi pulled herself out of the lotus position. The only source of light in the room was a large white candle on the nightstand, which gently illuminated her path into the kitchen. The light above the stove was on, humming gently as the burner below wheezed in an attempt to quickly heat her tea water.

She did enjoy a good cup of those legal herbs before she retired.

Then, from the large room (the _common room_, she called it, in a vain attempt to make it look like more than a giant empty room with a loveseat and a bookcase), two things happened at once: the phone rang and there was a loud rap on the door. _Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Boom, boom, boom!_

Sighing, Mimi turned the burner on low, yelled, "I'm coming!" to the door (choosing to keep a few expletives inside her mind, where they belonged) and slipped her ratty old slippers on before padding in the direction of the large, unlocked door.

"It's open, you know," she told the person on the other side, before heaving her whole body against it and forcing it open, just enough for one average-sized person's width to make their way through. There were only a few people who'd answer at this time of night…

"But isn't it impolite to just let yourself in?" The voice, which she heard before she saw the visitor, was low and gravelly. It sounded like he'd been out all night, chain-smoking, downing vodka and screaming into a hissing mic.

"Roger!"

Traditionally, Mimi made it a rule not to squeal and throw herself upon other people—when she was fifteen, her mother had warned her against this, told her that this behavior was only suitable for cheap whores. Of course, Mimi had found her mom's baggie of coke right after a long anti-drug conversation, so she ignored this rule (and many others) as she jumped up into Roger Davis' arms.

He laughed and gave her a quick squeeze, before setting her back on the ground. He turned around to shut the door and grimaced slightly—a grimace to challenge Mimi's "out of lotus" expression mere minutes before—as he pushed it shut. Roger rotated again, so he was face-to-face with Mimi once more.

For a good minute or so, it was silent, until Mimi said, "Come sit down, I'm making some tea." She must have noticed Roger's puzzled expression, because she laughed and said, "It was the only thing even kind-of caffeinated they'd let us have."

He nodded and followed her into the kitchen. The kettle was already boiling, so Mimi shut the burner off and reached into the cupboard, careful not to cut herself on the jagged glass around the door, grabbing two small cups.

"Pick your poison," she said, motioning to the straw basket of various tea-bags. Most of them she'd stolen from restaurants or from The Center, but the Earl Grey was a purchase she'd made all on her own, on her way down from Up North that morning.

"What's good?" Roger asked her, peering into the basket. She'd forgotten—he was a coffee-drinker. This was probably his first cup of tea in a long time, since his days in the house of Davis.

"This one has some orange and peppermint," Mimi said, holding up a neon-orange package. "It's this new-age stuff, supposed to make you look and feel healthier."

It was at this time that Mimi and Roger got a good look at each other, sizing up their disease-ravaged bodies. He too looked skinnier, paler—certainly, he was starting to look like his roommate and best friend, Mark Cohen. _Still,_ Mimi decided, _he doesn't look too ill, not today._

"I'll take it," he said finally, his hazel eyes looking somehow fuller—and sadder—as she opened the packet and dumped the little tea-bag into his cup. For herself, she chose an equally neon-color (an electric blue, said to improve your complexion) and gently poured in the water. She watched him watching her as she picked up the kettle, her hands shaking from the weight as she carefully nudged the bubbling water into the tiny cups.

"Let me get it," Roger told her, reaching over to get the kettle. She shook her head, her eyes looking up to meet his.

"I've got it under control," she replied, looking back down and biting her lip _hard_ as she finished pouring the water. Mimi handed him a cup and a spoon, took one for herself, and motioned for him to join her on the loveseat.

"So," she said, when he'd finally joined her, carefully balancing the cup between his two hands (calloused from his guitar playing), "what's been going on with everyone?"

"Not a lot," Roger replied slowly, blowing on his tea after he'd completed the sentence. "Just, you know, life."

"Well, that's nice," Mimi said, adapting a fruity English tone. "But, Mister Davis, _something_ interesting must be happening, correct?"

He laughed at her rendition of the proper Brits and responded, "Life has just been going on. There just…it's been…"

"What?" She said, leisurely setting her cup onto the rickety coffee table, her large and dark eyes upon his.

"Nothing," Roger said definitively, smiling—though Mimi was almost certain it was for her sake—before adding, "Shall we retire, m'lady?"

She nodded, appreciative of his own refined accent and agreed, "At once, Mister Davis."

Hand-in-hand, Mimi Marquez and Roger Davis made their way into her small, chilly bedroom, not to reemerge until late the next morning.


	2. The Morning After

(A/N: Hey, guys, where are the reviews! I gotta admit, I'm a bit disappointed…I spent a lot of time on that first chapter—granted, the version you've just read was probably 2.0—and I only got three reviews! I'll make you a deal: you review mine, I'll review yours. Mkay?)

The next morning, the sun didn't pour through Mimi's window until well after ten. Around this time, a bleary-eyed, messy-haired Mimi poked her nose out from under the comforter, feeling uncharacteristically hung-over.

"Roger," she said quietly, before clearing the early-morning gravelliness out of her voice. "Roger! Wake up!"

On her left, Roger gave an, "Mmfh," sort of noise, before rolling over and taking the covers with him.

Slowly, Mimi stretched and pulled herself out of bed, being sure to put on her slippers and matching ratty robe before she trudged into the bathroom. If anyone else would have stayed over (say, Joanne, who could always be found at Mimi's apartment after a vicious fight with Maureen; or Mark, rarely, when a dispute between him and Roger broke out), she would have closed the door—but not this morning. However, like most mornings, Mimi's scented lavender bubble-bath was accompanied by candle-lighting and a classical cassette. It was her way of feeling queen like, at least for twenty minutes.

Unfortunately, this morning, Mimi's peaceful soaking was interrupted by Roger, who'd decided that it was a good time to empty his bladder. She averted her eyes, though it wasn't the first time, because—of _course_—it's just common courtesy. Not that it bothered her that much…

"Well, good morning to you, too," Mimi said loudly as Roger flushed the toilet and, oh-so-considerately, lowered the toilet seat.

Looking slightly sheepish, he sat on the now-closed toilet lid and replied, "You're up early."

"It's ten forty-nine," Mimi told him, leaning over slightly so she could see her alarm clock clearer. "Is that _really_ so early?"

Roger looked shocked for a moment, and then craned his neck so he too could see the numbers that her alarm clock radiated, before mumbling, "Fuck," and jumping up quickly.

She laughed, her eyes back on him, as she said, "Where're you off to? I thought it was _early_?"

He gave her the finger—though it was in a playful way, like he might do to Mark—and in a light tone replied, "I've got a job interview in half an hour."

Mimi's eyes widened considerably, still focused on Roger (who was running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to flatten the obvious morning-after sex-head look) and said, "Well, that's interesting—why did you tell me last night?"

Roger shrugged. "I forgot."

"Where's the interview at?"

Once again, the musician shrugged his shoulders and said, "This place a few blocks away, they produce albums and stuff…"

Eyes growing wider, Mimi exclaimed, "You _forgot_? You're a _musician_, you've just been offered the perfect job that's basically throwing a musical career into your face, and you _forgot_? Jesus, Roger."

He said nothing, simply shrugged for a third time and continued to smooth out his hair. Finally realizing it was no use, he turned to Mimi and stooped down to her level. "Things have just been crazy the past forty-eight hours," he told her. "You came home and…I'm sorry, the interview just wasn't the first thing on my mind." Kissing her forehead, he said, "Shit, I'd better get going. I'll be back later, okay?"

"We'll do lunch," Mimi replied with a lopsided grin, watching him as he left the bathroom and listening until she finally heard the front door close with a loud slam. The bubbles in the tub were quickly evaporating, and from the bedroom, Mimi heard her trusty beeper go off. Getting out of the tub, she rewrapped herself in her bathrobe and unplugged the bathtub.

Now inside the kitchen, Mimi downed a half-empty can of diet soda from in the fridge along with her AZT, before lining it up along with the other aluminum cans on the counter. She had ten, and when she got to twelve, she always crushed them and threw them away.

Almost at the same time as Mimi carefully lined the can up, the phone in the living room went off again. Halfway hoping that it wasn't a salesperson on the other line, she groaned and stepped towards the phone, her tiny feet taking tiny steps towards the ringing receiver. Picking it up, feeling its heavy weight in her cold hands, she said, "Hello?"

"Mimi!" The voice on the other side was female, and definitely did a good shriek, which meant only one thing—

"Maureen?"

"Ohmigod, Mark said that Roger had come up to visit you last night, but no one believed that you were home so soon!"

Mimi wasn't quite sure how to respond to this, so she sat down on her loveseat and at the same time replied, "It's great to be back."

"I bet it is." Then, as if she were covering the receiver, Mimi heard Maureen yell, "Pookie, I'll be there in a minute!" before saying to Mimi, "Listen, I've gotta go, but Joanne and I are having a dinner later this week, like on Friday? You and Roger are free to come, you know."

"Thanks, we'd love to," Mimi replied with a smile, though she was pretty sure that Roger would only be willing to, and would not _love_ to, go to the dinner at Maureen and Joanne's house.

"Great! Well, then, I'll talk to you later, babe!" Dead air.

Almost as soon as Maureen hung up, Mimi realized that what she wanted right now was a hit of heroin, but settled for rushing to her toilet, being suddenly and involuntarily sick.


	3. Confrontations

(A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, I'm super happy. And, as many of you have guessed, Mimi was _indeed_ in rehab—well, one week of hospitalization for her wintertime rendezvous at the end of the musical, followed by five weeks of rehabilitation in upstate New York—and from this point forward, it will be mentioned a little more. Anyways, keep up the R&Rs, you know you love it.)

As was customary on Wednesday afternoons, Roger and Mimi's two o'clock lunch commenced at the delicatessen down the street. To Mimi's knowledge, it had no name—then again, the wooden sign outside had long since lost the painted words it had started with in the 1920's, so it very well could have had a name she was simply unaware of.

That was the kind of thing she liked to consider while waiting for Roger, as she did at that moment. From their table for two by the window, she could see someone blonde and familiar walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, camera in hand. For a moment, Mimi considered leaving the deli and following Mark Cohen to whichever location he'd picked for his own late lunch—after all, it was twenty after two and Roger _still_ wasn't around—but things had been good since she'd gotten back…

"_I don't want to go," Mimi cried, her frail body propped up by pillows as her friends gathered around her. "Please, let me come home."_

"_No," Roger replied, in a voice so startlingly commanding that the four others looked at him in disbelief. "You're sick and you need to get better."_

"_It's the only way," Maureen piped up, and at that moment Mimi noticed that she and Joanne were holding hands at her bedside. In spite of herself, she smiled._

"_We'll let you have a minute," Joanne said, shooting a look to Collins, then to Mark and finally, to Maureen. The four left the room in single file, past Mimi's bed and the beeping machines reading her statistics over a monitor. The bed on the other side of the curtain was empty, but if you looked hard enough, you could still see the imprint of a body upon the sheets._

"_I don't want to go," Mimi repeated, her voice small and her suddenly-huge eyes averted from Roger's tired ones._

"_I know," Roger said, his voice soft as he sat on the edge of her bed. "But you have to do this. If you can't do it for you, do it for me. Please, Mimi."_

_She sighed, eyes still looking far away—oh, how interesting the divider curtain was—and said, "But either way…"_

"_That's a long time from now," Roger told her, correctly interpreting her words. "It's going to be okay, but you have to get better first."_

_Mimi was silent for a long while, her eyes looking but not seeing the things in front of her until she spoke at last. "I'll go," she whispered. "But Roger?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Will you be here when I get back?"_

Behind her, the bell on the door tinkled, signifying a new customer to the deli. Mimi turned around, expecting to see the shaggy-haired musician coming through the door with an apology for his lack of punctuality—the interview went overtime, perhaps, or the subway had been running slow—but instead, she saw Mark and a certain Buzzline employer stepping through, trapped in a surprisingly animated conversation. When she caught Mark's eye, she waved him over to her table.

"Mimi," Mark said, beaming as he stood next to Mimi's mustard-stained table. "Where's Roger?"

"I'm not sure," Mimi said, eying the less-than-pleased Alexi Darling who stood next to Mark. "He actually had an interview earlier—"

"For Cyber Arts, right?" Mark cut in, nodding.

"Wait—_what_! He's going to an interview at _Cyber Arts?_ Like the place that Benny owns?"

Mark nodded again, and a suddenly smug-faced Alexi said, "He's been talking about it for _weeks_. You didn't know?"

"I haven't been around," was all Mimi told Alexi, suddenly remembering why she and Roger had been, well, less-than-fond of her in previous times. "But, enough about me, what are you two doing here?"

Mark's face reddened considerably as Alexi answered, "We were working late, and Marky said he knew this deli with absolutely _delicious_ bagel sandwiches."

"Fabulous," Mimi said, in a perfect imitation of Alexi's gushing voice. "Well," she added, back in her own tone. "I don't want to distract the two of you from _work_."

"Oh, no, we're—" Mark began, but Alexi interrupted, "We'll see you around, Mimi." Mark gave her an apologetic look as Alexi turned towards the counter, and leaned over to Mimi.

"Sorry about her, it's been busy today," Mark said quietly, and as he said this, a random and crazy and yet so plausible idea hit Mimi.

"Are you two—are you _dating_ Alexi Darling?" Though Mark didn't answer, his reddening face and his sudden murmur of goodbye was a good enough answer for the now-smirking Mimi.

The bell rang again, and once again Mimi turned around to see who had come in—this time, finally, it was Roger Davis who entered the door, tired-looking as he had been at that hospital so many weeks before, but grinning like crazy as he slid into the seat across from Mimi. "Sorry I'm late," he told her, "the building was _insane_—I had to find someone just so I could get to the elevator."

Mimi smiled a little, though Mark and Alexi's words stuck in her mind as she casually asked, "How was your interview?"

"Great," Roger told her. "The interviewer was a little concerned about the lack of experience that I have, but I think I impressed him with my knowledge of music and production and stuff."

Even more casually, her voice lightening, Mimi asked, "Who was the interviewer?"

Roger's brows were knit as he replied, "I don't know…it was just some guy."

"Oh."

It was silent for a moment, before Mimi finally said, "You never told me that it was an interview to work at Cyber Arts."

Roger looked confused, then concerned, then upset and finally neutral. "Would it have made a difference if I did?" Roger asked her.

"Yes! Roger, you're going to work for _Benny._"

It was almost as if Roger couldn't contain himself as he said, "You didn't mind him three months ago."

Mimi sighed, exasperated, and shot back, "He made hundreds, maybe even thousands, of homeless people leave their homes so wealthy _nobodies_ like Benjamin Coffin have something to do in their loads of spare time!"

Roger laughed, a harsh laugh, and said, "Not _that_ again. Mimi, it happened over a _year_ ago! Even Maureen's over it!"

She sighed heavily again and leaned in to him, said, "Listen, Roger, I can't _take_ this. Mark said that you've been talking about this interview for _weeks_, and yet you _totally_ forgot to tell me about it."

"I was excited that you'd come home—"

"And," Mimi interrupted, "You're going to work for _Benny._ And you were _late_ for our lunch, which makes no sense since your interview was like three _hours_ ago."

"I _told_ you, it was a huge building—"

"Listen," Mimi told him at last, her eyes dead-serious. "I'm—I'm going home. You're pissing me off and I need some time alone." With that, she gathered her stuff and left the door.

"Mimi!" Roger said, causing Mark and Alexi (plus every other customer in the deli) to glare in his direction, or glance curiously, depending on who they were. It didn't help though. Mimi continued to walk, until she was back at the loft, alone in her quiet oasis.

xxx

_March 3, 1991, 3:22 PM Eastern Standard Time._

Mimi rested her head against the porcelain of her toilet, beads of sweat on her hairline as she held her long, dark strands back. The loft was silent—no classical music this time, no sounds from Roger. Of course not. His presence had been absent, both in Mimi's loft and her overall life (unless you counted a chance encounter at the mailboxes) for eight long days. She felt another rush of sickness come up through her throat, and as she leaned over and heaved again, she couldn't help remember a situation like to this.

"_Make it stop," Mimi whined, her shaking arms gripping the sides of the toilet bowl as she sat up, face pale._

"_It'll be done in a few days," the nurse told her, rubbing her shoulders encouragingly. "Everyone's sick for the first week or so, but soon it'll be over."_

_Mimi laughed bitterly, her eyes on the murky toilet bowl's water as she replied, "My boyfriend used to be a junkie, too—did I tell you that? Except he never told me that I'd be this sick…" She looked like she might like to say more, but cut herself off mid-word and let herself puke another time, not even feeling the nurse's hand on her back._

As Mimi pondered the toilet bowl from that angle, she realized with a sickening _thud_ to her stomach (one that threatened to bring even more up) that she wasn't going through withdrawal. It had been three weeks since she'd been this sick, and the only other probable cause was…

_Fuck._ She needed to get to Walgreens and talk to Roger, in that order.


	4. Life Support

(A/N: Sorry for keeping you all waiting. I like to give you time to chew it over and give me good reviews—which, by the way, I'm totally loving. Don't forget to keep givin' em! Oh, and I wanted to wait for my RENT shirt—it came today—smells like New York and everything! Haha. R&R, please! P.S. – Most, if not all, of my medical information is in the league of accuracy. Information comes from Wikipedia.)

Walgreens was practically empty at that time of night—apparently, no one felt the need to shop for tampons and over-priced, expired Pringles at that time of night. Other than the lone cashier up front, the scraggly-haired man buying cat food and bean dip, the drugstore was vacant; it was perfect for Mimi Marquez's top-secret operation.

Sitting on the sticky floor, Mimi couldn't help but wonder why the hell there were so many brands of tests. Generic, Accu-Clear, Clearblue Easy, E.P.T…so many numbers, words, choices; she should have asked someone experienced to come along with her. She'd only been tested once, and the situation had been different…

"_Mimi Marquez? This way, please."_

_Though the wall color was bright and welcoming, Mimi felt herself shrink as she followed the nurse back to a stark white examining room. "Sit down," the nurse told her, and Mimi obliged, gingerly setting herself upon the table. The nurse took her blood pressure and listened to her heartbeat, before saying, "The doctor will be here in a moment," and departing._

_He came in, a colorless man who stabbed a needle into her arm and took blood without a word. Mimi smirked as he did this, rejoicing in the feeling of a needle firmly wedged into her vein. The only thing he told her, as he left the room with her blood in his hand, was that, "Your results will be here in about a week."_

_Just as she'd scheduled, Mimi had arrived at the same clinic exactly eight days later. The nurse took her blood pressure and listened to her heart again, noted that her pupils were dilated and she had track-marks on her arms, then dutifully told her that the doctor would arrive momentarily with her results._

"_I have the results of your test," the doctor told her as he stepped in, closing the door and taking a seat opposite her. "It is with my greatest displeasure that I must tell you, you've tested positive for HIV. Now, there are many options for a young woman who's been diagnosed and is still in the early stages…"_

_As the colorless doctor continued to talk, Mimi didn't listen to him. This wasn't what she'd been tested for, she didn't give a flying fuck if she had this disease, they were making cures and plus, she figured it was about time she kicked the bucket…it was a wonder that she'd lived for seventeen years, been shooting and snorting for five of them, and was still alive._

"_However," the doctor said, interrupting her chain of thought. "There is good news."_

"_And what's that?" Mimi shot back._

"_You're not pregnant."_

Now, two and a half years later, she was faced with similar circumstances once again—though this time, she didn't need to be concerned with the possibility of being diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. This time, there was another person, more than one person, at stake. This time, it wasn't about Mimi.

Head spinning, she pulled out the two cheapest boxes and hurried towards the front counter, tossing the boxes at the cashier and pulling out a weathered twenty and a ten. She grabbed her plastic bags and, for once, abandoned her spare change as she sprinted out the door. There was important business to be taken care of.

xxx

In the five-to-ten minutes Mimi had to wait for her results, she: paced the hallway floor, considered eating the chocolate bar in her cupboard, dismissed the chocolate bar, dialed Maureen and Joanne's apartment only to find the line busy, put on her slippers, took off her slippers, and finally, decided that this situation practically _begged_ for that chocolate bar and ate it as she went back to the bathroom. Half of it was in her mouth as she sat on the plastic toilet-seat cover—Mimi shivered; even though it was March, you could still feel the cold. It was a painful kind of cold, seeping into the bones and taking the soul.

"I'll count to three," Mimi said out loud. "I'll count nice and slow, and when I'm done, I'll turn over the tests. One…"

She positioned the sheet in front of her, with the color diagram that told her what everything meant.

"Two."

Mimi wondered why the fuck she and Roger hadn't used condoms. They always used condoms. Had they been out, or had he forgotten? Or maybe he hadn't forgot…maybe he decided that since they were both sick, it couldn't hurt…

"Three."

Mimi turned over the two tests.

Two tests, four lines.

xxx

_March 7, 1991, 4:16 PM Eastern Standard Time._

"Mimi?"

Mimi set her outdated copy of _Seventeen_ magazine aside, pulled her small body up from the cozy chair, and followed a woman wearing a sweater and jeans through a small hallway. She didn't look like a nurse—no one here did.

"My name is Jana Yang," the woman told her, looking over her should as she directed Mimi through the maze of offices and hallways behind the reception area. "I'm the director of counseling and grief services here at Life Support."

"What's that mean?" Mimi asked, as they stepped into a room, 216. It looked like an office of sorts—a desk with a bulky computer sat by a window overlooking the city. Next to it was an overstuffed arm-chair, and across was a rickety loveseat, which Mimi claimed for herself. Jana Yang took the arm-chair.

She laughed and replied, "Basically, I'm the person no one wants to mess with." Mimi nodded—she could dig it.

"So, this is your first one-on-one Life Support session, right?"

Mimi nodded again. "I've never been to the groups, either," she added, for further clarification. "My best friend Angel does—did—along with her boyfriend Collins. My boyfriend Roger goes sometimes too, and so does his roommate Mark—but Mark doesn't have AIDS. Everyone else does."

Jana nodded, and Mimi was relieved to see that she didn't have a clipboard or any kind of note-taking tool in front of her. They were just talking. Praise God.

"Alright, well, just to give you a general idea of how we work here—the services we provide at Life Support are non-profit, and completely confidential. We're free, and anything you tell us remains within these walls. We're not doctors, so we can't prescribe you anything, but we have resources in the community, if need be." Jana paused, and Mimi watched as she reached over and took a sip out of her water bottle. Aquafina.

"That's basically it—if you have any specific questions, my door is always open and my phone is always here."

"Alright." There was a pause for a moment, before Mimi said, "Well…do I just start talking?"

Jana shrugged, took another sip. "By all means."

Beginning slowly, Mimi spoke. She told Jana of her past experience with doctors, including the HIV/pregnancy test mix-ups. She told of Roger and their break-ups/make-ups, of Benny and of rehab. Mimi must have gone on for an hour or more, but the whole time Jana was silent.

Finally, when she finished, Jana replied. "It sounds like you've got a lot on your plate right now."

"Yes," Mimi replied, feeling slightly crestfallen. She'd _known_ this.

"But," Jana continued, "There are solutions to each of your problems—this pregnancy, you say your boyfriend Roger doesn't know yet?"

"I just found out," Mimi answered, which wasn't a total lie. It had only been four days since the tests spoke.

"Well, the very first step is to talk to him. It's his child as well, and the abort/adopt/keep dilemma is as much of his as it is yours. Of course, as the one carrying the fetus, it's your choice in the end—but part of any good relationship is communication, especially when an issue like this arises."

Mimi nodded, and Jana spoke more.

"As for the possibility of passing on the HIV virus…I don't suppose you know the statistics, do you?" Mimi shook her head. "Well, even without actively taking your AZT, a child only has a 25 chance of contracting the virus, during all stages of pregnancy and deliver. However, as you take your AZT regularly, your child has a one-to-eight percent chance—or even less—of getting this disease."

"So it's not likely."

Jana sighed, looking sad. "Unfortunately, Mimi, anything is likely."

xxx

Feeling wiped, and more than a little emotional in so many different ways, Mimi trudged up the steps to her apartment, rejoicing in the silence of the halls. The last thing she needed was a confrontation.

Starting to pull out her keys, Mimi remembered that she didn't lock the door—she'd only planned on being gone a little while, the sidetracking to Life Support was unintentional—and pulled it open with much force. She felt her skinny arms shake from the aftermath of such heaving, and could practically hear them scream as she stepped back in and closed the door once more.

"I thought you'd never get back."

Mimi turned around, surprised and trying to figure out what she could use to disarm an intruder, when she saw that it was only the scrawny Mark Cohen, sitting on her couch at ease. "What are you doing in here?" Mimi demanded, suspicious.

"The door was unlocked," he said casually, shrugging.

"But why are you at my apartment?"

Mark sighed, his eyes downcast, as he murmured, "I needed to talk."

"What about?"

His face a delicate shade of pink, Mark looked her in the eye and said, "Roger. And…you."

Mimi froze. "What?"

"He should know."

Squinting at him, Mimi questioned, "What should he know?", sure that she'd misunderstood the cinematographer's opinion.

There was an uncomfortable pause—Mimi set her purse and keys on the bookcase, Mark scratched the area behind his ears—before he finally answered, "That you're carrying his child."


	5. The Wise Cameraman

(A/N: I'm not so fond of this chapter…I didn't really _want_ to explain how Mark found out, but since everyone is curious & I guess it's sort of important, I squeezed it in. Please R&R, I love the responses I'm getting—even if it's just "this is good" or "this sucks", I DON'T CARE. Just say it, fools. AND MIMI IS NOT A HO, SCARFY. You're just jealous 'cause you want my Roger. 3)

There was an uncomfortable silence throughout the loft, as Mimi considered Mark thoughtfully, and Mark considered his shoes. Finally, her voice gentle and calm, Mimi asked, "How did you know?"

Mark shrugged, pink face downcast, and took his time in replying. "I—I saw you. That night at Walgreens? We, umm, we needed some food in the loft...and all of the other stores were closed. So I told Roger I'd go to a drugstore and get some chips and Cap'n Crunch and stuff. And I saw you, sitting in the aisle."

Mimi considered him again, her eyes clouded over, until a terrorizing thought brought her back to the current moment. "Does Roger—did you…?"

"He doesn't know," Mark answered quickly. "Because I wasn't sure. But today—I came to your apartment to try and get you to talk to Roger again, whether or not you were pregnant, but you weren't here." He looked sheepish as he continued. "So I had a cup of coffee and went to the bathroom, and when I was throwing away the paper towels, I saw the tests."

Ignoring the fact that it was kind of creepy that Mark could read pregnancy tests, Mimi said, "Well…this is quite a conversation."

"So, are _you_ going to tell him?" Mimi's eyes met Mark's, and she noticed that he was back to his normally pale shade. His blue eyes met her brown ones, sincere looking into nervous and almost upset.

"No," Mimi said.

Mark's expression was that of true concern as he asked, "Why?"

She sighed, unable to find an answer good enough to give to Mark, her eyes looking down once more.

"You have to," Mark told her suddenly, surprising her as she looked up once more. The concern and sincerity he'd showed before was gone. Now he looked hard, untouchable. "He deserves to know."

Mimi laughed, a harsh bark, and responded, "Jesus _Christ_, Mark! You think this is a matter of whether or not Roger _deserves_ to know that I'm pregnant? Oh my _God_, Mark, you're twice as naïve as I thought!"

"Then why won't you tell him?"

"Why do you care?"

Mark looked down again, his voice barely audible as he mumbled, "He's my best friend."

"Yeah?" Mimi exhaled heavily. "Well, he's my boyfriend—or he _was_, until he took that job at Cyber Arts."

"He wants to quit," Mark told her suddenly, randomly. "The job at Cyber Arts? He said, if he has to pick you or the job, he picks you."

"Well, I'm glad he's finally came to his senses."

This time Mark laughed, before saying, "And you say _I'm_ naïve! Wake up and smell the shit, Meems! These past few weeks, Roger's been _so_ happy! For once, he's doing what he loves and he's getting paid for it—why the hell can't you just support him?"

"He's working for Benny," Mimi stated. "Why is it that everyone's okay with him working for that prick besides me?"

"Because," Mark said, his voice gentler than before. "We've all gotten over it. Sure, we're all fucking pissed that he was such a jerk a few months ago—but he's made up for it, Mimi. Did you know that he's paying Roger almost twice the amount that someone at his job should be making? _And, _he's giving him opportunities that most people only _dream_ of. He's a good guy, Mimi."

She sighed heavily, looking down again, and said, "It's just…"

"What, you don't want Roger to be happy?"

Mimi's eyes snapped up and she exclaimed, "No! Of course I want him to be happy!"

"Then let him keep the job," Mark advised. "Go up to the loft later on tonight, and tell him that you were stupid for bullying him about something so stupid. Let him forgive you, get all lovey-dovey, whatever. Then tell him you're pregnant."

"I'm not telling him," Mimi answered stubbornly. "How will his knowing help anything?"

"He'd want to know," Mark told her simply.

xxx

"Roger?" Mimi stepped into his and Mark's loft, the loft she'd come to know so fondly over the past year, in a cautious and almost frightful manner. "Roger, you there?"

From the main room, she could hear the plucking of a guitar, and followed her ears until she found him. Sitting on the couch, screwing around with his guitar. Just as she'd left him.

"What are you doing here?" he said, sitting up and abandoning his guitar. She noticed, with a pinch of pain in her heart, that he seemed all too eager for her to leave.

"I came to apologize," she told him. "For the Cyber Arts thing."

"It's about time," Roger replied. "Jesus, Mimi, it's just a _job._ I can't believe you let a job get in the way of us."

"I know," Mimi murmured. "It's just…I was upset…I couldn't believe that you'd gotten a job with Benny, after all of the shit between us…"

"It's a really good job," he reassured her. "I'm getting paid good, and there's a lot of opportunities to meet people that I wouldn't normally get."

"I know," she repeated. "Mark came and talked to me earlier. He told me all about it."

"Well," Roger said, looking mildly surprised, "That's good."

"And," Mimi gulped, plunging in, "There's something else I need to talk to you about…"

"Let's talk over dinner," Roger suggested.

"Good idea," Mimi said, brightening. "We can make some pasta in my loft, and then we'll have a nice night in. Maybe there'll be a movie on cable."

Grabbing Roger's hand, Mimi hurried down the stairs, to the supermarket, where—if just for a moment—she could forget about the troubles that plagued her. She had her Roger back, and for now, that's all that mattered.


	6. I Should Tell You

(A/N: Short again, I'm afraid. As usual, I'm so glad to have your guys' reviews; I look forward to them every time I post a new chapter. On the second hand—thank you for getting me started on this, AC—I've been halfheartedly looking for a collaborator for a while. I'm not a tough person to get along with, I swear, and I'm just really cool. Review or email me if you're interested. Anyways, onto the chapter—enjoy!)

"Mmm."

"Roger, get your fingers out of the sauce!" Mimi looked over from the chopping block, heavy knife in hand, where she was brutally slashing a head of lettuce. Then, raising an eyebrow, she asked him, "How does it taste?"

"Great," Roger replied, now stirring the bright red sauce with Mimi's wooden spoon. She'd once told him that she made it in wood-shop during high school, but Roger knew better: she'd dropped out when she was fourteen.

"We should've invited Mark and his _girlfriend_ over," Mimi said, spitting out the word as if it were poisonous. "We've made so much _shit_ to eat."

Roger wrinkled his nose at the comparison of feces and food, but seemed to switch his expression to confusion as he asked, "Girlfriend?"

"Alexi Darling," Mimi said, her attention back on the vegetables for the salad. Then, not hearing Roger's reply, she looked up. Seeing his confused—mingled with a surprising new look of shock—face prompted her to say, "What? What's up?"

Silence.

"Oh my God." It had hit her, like a bunch of bricks. "You didn't _know_, did you?"

"I knew he was working late—he said they were doing a really important something or other. But I didn't know—Jesus Christ. My _best friend_ didn't tell me he was out fucking his boss after hours. He lied to my face."

"Maybe not," Mimi said slowly. "Maybe they _were_ working…but he knew, I don't know, that you'd tease him if you found out. So he kept it silent."

Roger shook his head, repeating the same mantra over and over and over again. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

"Calm down," she murmured softly, having long-since abandoned her salad veggies. Reaching over, she touched his forearm with the tips of her fingers, whispered, "It's alright. Everything is going to be _fine_, if you just let it be. Baby, Mark's just trying to get his life together. Let him, okay? He deserves a little happiness. So do you…" She kissed his lips tenderly. "And so do I." Kiss.

"Well, _I'm_ perfectly happy here," Roger said, holding Mimi in his arms, much to her delight. However, he seemed to remember the bubbling pot of pasta moments later, and said, "C'mon, we need to finish dinner," before giving her a quick squeeze and going back to the cooking. Slightly crestfallen, Mimi went back to her salad, tossing it into a wooden bowl that matched Roger's spoon.

xxx

"Alright, so, what now?" The couple stood in the kitchen, dishes floating in the sink. Roger leaned against the counter—the very counter, in fact, that Mimi sat on—looking at her expectantly. Mimi shrugged, walking out to the living room. Roger followed.

"So, um…" Mimi looked down as she sat on the couch. "I feel like we need to talk about, umm, _stuff._ Like, from that time when we weren't talking?"

"Alright. What about?"

"Well," Mimi took a deep breath. "How were you during that time?"

Roger shrugged. "Fine, I guess." He frowned. "I mean, obviously, I missed you a lot. But I remembered my AZT and didn't go out and buy any smack. So that's good, right?"

"Of course," Mimi replied with a smile. "I never realized it until _I_ tried it…but you're right…it's hard to stay clean."

"But you have?"

"Yes! Of course!" Mimi sighed. "But I can't say I haven't thought about it. A lot of stuff has been going on lately and it's like, _Fuck this. Why not just do it and get it over with, right?_ But I haven't."

"Good." He kissed her forehead. "Because I know you, and I know you're stronger than that."

She smiled at him, eyes closed, and said, "I hope so, Roger. I really do."

"Okay, well, enough about drugs and enough about me. How has _your_ life been going?"

Mimi gulped, though she was pretty sure that Roger didn't notice. "Like I said, a lot of shit's been going on," she finally said. Her eyes were on Roger, but they were unfocused, like she was somewhere else, thinking about something else.

He smiled and said, "Well, what's that mean?"

"Well…" Mimi considered her diversions. _Fake a job interview? No. A reunion with a friend? Probably too obvious. Jesus Christ…_ "A bunch of stuff. Like I said."

"Keeping up with your therapy?" As part of the contract Mimi had signed to get into rehab, she had had to agree to continue with weekly therapy for as long as her at-home therapist felt was necessary. Apparently, she had _deeper issues_ that coincided with her drug addiction.

She nodded. "Yeah. And, well, I've been seeing someone else, too, for therapy…"

"Oh, really?" Roger sounded confused.

"Her name's Jana Yang. She, umm, she works at Life Support. That place where you and Angel and Collins used to go for the meetings, where Mark got footage? Well, besides groups, they offer one-on-one grief counseling, or something like that. I thought it might be a good idea to try it out."

"Well, was it?"

"Yes. I think so, anyways. Because, umm, Jana? She had some really good advice."

"About staying clean?"

Mimi gulped again. "No."

Now Roger _looked_ confused. "About staying healthy?"

"I'm pregnant, Roger."

She hadn't meant for it to come out that way. Mimi had a _plan_, damnit—she was going to slowly sink the idea upon Roger, maybe bring it up theoretically. _Rog, how would you feel about starting a family? Wouldn't it be _awesome_ if we had some kids?_ Not so blunt.

"What?" Roger's face fell. She didn't need to tell him what it meant. He knew.

"I'm pregnant. I—I think it happened that night when I got home from rehab, remember? Um, right after…right after that fight you and I had…" Her voice was no more than a whisper now. "I got really sick, Roger. I was really, really sick. So I took a test, two tests, actually. And they were both positive."

"You're _pregnant_?"

"Yes, Roger." Mimi felt tired, suddenly. "I'm pregnant with your child. There's no question about it."

"And that's why you went…that's why you met with Jana?"

"Yes." Mimi looked down into her lap, where her hands were folded. "She, umm, she said I should talk to you. You know. About, umm, keeping the baby. Or aborting it."

"Aborting it?"

"Abortion," Mimi clarified. "She wanted us to talk about keeping the baby or having an abortion."

"Oh, my God…" Before Mimi and Roger could talk about any more, Roger had dissolved into tears on her shoulder—a rare occurrence indeed, marking the seriousness of the situation.


	7. Girls Day Out

(A/N: I love starting my chapters with author's notes. I love talking about myself. Get over it. ANYWAYS, as usual, I love the reviews—so keep writing them or you'll feel some pretty sucky pain. This is basically a fluff chapter…let the other bohemians and Alexi find out about the pregnancy, et cetera.)

"Mark." Mimi's voice was nothing more than whisper and, at three in the morning that was probably for the best.

"Mimi?" His voice was slurred over the phone line. He'd probably been asleep. _Or fucking Alexi Darling._ Mimi shuddered at this second thought. It was just too horrific, even for her dirty mind.

"Mark. I just wanted to tell you…I told Roger. That I was, you know." She twisted the phone cord around her hand, hoped that she was quiet. Hoped that Roger wasn't stirring in her bedroom. He'd just fallen asleep.

"Did you tell him that I knew?" Mimi could just picture Mark in the loft he and Roger normally shared. He was probably dressed in his nighttime attire—or worse, nothing at all—and as she heard a click on the other end she knew that he'd turned on the lamp beside his bed. Mark's interrupted-in-the-middle-of-the-night routines were too predictable.

"No! I mean," she lowered her voice, "no, of course I didn't. He was already kind of pissed that you didn't tell him about _Alexi._" The name was like poison. "So I decided to pretend like it's some big secret. Whatever, right? You shouldn't have even known!"

There was a pause, and Mimi could hear Mark's voice call out to someone not too far away, "I'll be there in a minute. Yeah, I know." Pause. "It's Mimi." Pause. "Mmm-hmm. Babe, I'll be there in a second." He returned to the phone. "Mimi?"

"Yeah, _babe_?" She snickered. "Was that Miss Darling, by any chance?"

She could practically feel his face redden as he said, "Um, yeah."

"Well," she was smirking, "I need to get back to bed. But, Mark?"

"Yeah, Mimi?"

"Don't forget to use condoms."

"Goodnight, Mimi!"

xxx

_March 8, 12:02 PM, Eastern Standard Time._

_The morning comes too soon._ Mimi couldn't help but think this as she woke up that morning, her eyes opening to the noon sunshine. Roger was gone.

_Mimi—_

_Had to work. Will try to be back before five. Sorry that I freaked out last night, it's just a little too much to think about at once, you know? I'll bring home Chinese, the stuff you like._

_Love, Roger_

"He went to work," Mimi said out loud, to concrete this idea in her mind, though she knew it was true. Roger had a good job. Roger loved his good job. Who was she to force him to stay home and have an Important Talk about something thus far unimportant?

But, that left Mimi with another thing to think about: how to spend her day? Up until this point, she'd spent her days laying in bed, doing odd jobs, or visiting Jana at Life Support. Today, she didn't need to do any of that. So, now what?

Of course. Off to the boutiques.

xxx

It was perhaps thanks to a disturbing twist of fate that Mimi, two hours after her wake-up, found herself drinking coffee with a hormonal Maureen Johnson, a burnt-out Joanne Jefferson, and a perky-in-that-totally-bitchy-way Alexi Darling. And everyone acted like it was so _natural._

Here's what happened: having no money and no idea what the hell she was shopping for, Mimi had called Joanne and Maureen. Maureen was always up for shopping, Joanne had said, and what's the point of a platinum MasterCard if you're never going to use it?

Alexi's integration into the trip had been quite on accident. Leaving the apartment, Mimi had quite literally ran into Mark, whose hassled expression showed that he truly _wasn't_ interested in dealing with Alexi when he got home. When he'd heard that Mimi was going shopping with Maureen and Joanne, he'd brightened, said that Alexi would _love_ to spend this time "you know, bonding" and if Mimi would just wait, just for a _moment_, Alexi would be down and ready to go. _Shoulda just left._

And now, Mimi sat underneath an umbrella on the sidewalk outside of Starbucks, delicately sipping her mocha as she listened to Joanne vent about work. "They wanted to have the meeting at _my_ house!" she complained, gulping down her super espresso. Mimi wasn't sure what was wrong with that—Joanne and Maureen lived in a _gorgeous_ Manhattan apartment.

"In the end, though," Joanne continued, oblivious to the fact that no one gave a flying fuck, "in the end, they just had it at Katrina's house. It's _beautiful­­_—she's hired a professional decorator for every room and there was a caterer there. A _caterer!_"

"We had a caterer for our holiday party," Alexi offered. "It was some upscale company, with their own winery and everything. The food? _De-lish._ I told Mark, I said, 'If we ever have a party, we're _definitely_ hiring this place.' You know what I mean?"

Joanne was nodding, and the two continued their passionate discussion relating to expensive catering companies while Maureen leaned over and murmured, "If you think this conversation is bad, you'd be appalled at how she is in _bed._"

Mimi grinned, sticking a finger covered in whipped cream in her mouth. "Fortunately, Roger and I never have those problems."

"Lucky," Maureen responded, as Joanne said, "Did we tell you, we've been thinking about starting a family?" It was obvious she'd been dying to say this.

_Oh, no. _Their fights had been less frequent, but Maureen and Joanne were the type to have many, many makeups and breakups over the course of their lifetime. Children would amplify this need of theirs.

"You didn't," Mimi said, eyebrows raised. Joanne seemed eager to dish.

"Well," she started. "As a lawyer, I know quite a few people in various areas of law enforcement. One woman—actually, I met her at the meeting at Katrina's house—she's an agent at the adoption clinic right down the street from our apartment. I told her, you know, that Maureen and I had been considering our options for a while now, and she told me that we were the _perfect_ couple for adoption."

"That's great. Are you going to interview any mothers?" This came from Alexi—later, in a conversation Mimi and Alexi would have individually, Mimi would learn that Miss Darling was an adopted child. She knew the process well.

"I don't know," Joanne said, frowning. "We've just started on the adoption profile."

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Maureen exclaimed. "Wouldn't it be great if we had a little girl? I've been telling Joanne that we should get a girl, but she says it may not be up to us."

"We're gonna be parents together." Mimi hadn't meant for this to slip out—she'd planned, yet again, to announce the pregnancy in a more subtle way—but what's done was done, and plus, the girls didn't look upset about her choice of addressing the issue.

"Ohmigod, Mimi!" The outburst came from Maureen, who was positively glowing; Joanne enveloped Mimi in a bone-crushing hug and Alexi, who looked kind of uncomfortable about all of this personal information they were discussing, just sat there with a smile on her face.

"It'll be so much fun!" Maureen began babbling about the joys of their shared parenthood—they could baby-sit each others' kids, enroll them in the same schools—"They could even do ballet together!"

"Or softball," Joanne said, gently reminding her partner that they might not have a ballet-friendly child.

"Oh, Pookie." Maureen kissed Joanne, then looked back up at Mimi and, as if she could see the baby right through Mimi's flat belly, said, "This is exciting!"


End file.
